Examining
by Todash
Summary: A few months after the war, an unexpected visitor shows up in Hawkeye's examining room. Slash content, B.J./Hawkeye.


**Examining**

"Dr. Pierce?"

"Yes, Pam."

"There's one more patient, sir. I'm sorry. He just walked in without an appointment and he says he really needs to see you today. I tried—honestly, I did—to get him to make an appointment for tomorrow…"

"That's all right, Pam. Send him in."

As Pam left the room, Hawkeye sighed. He really didn't want to stay late today, he was beat and in a foul mood. But if Pam couldn't talk a patient into waiting a day for an appointment, then perhaps it was best to see the guy. Hopefully it would be a quick diagnosis, take two pills and call me in the morning kind of thing.

He was starting to lay out sterile instruments in case he would be needing them when the door opened behind him. "There's the tall, dark and handsome doctor I remember!" said a jubilant voice that he knew well, and he turned around sharply, thinking… _can't be… can it?_

It was indeed B.J. Hunnicutt stepping into his examining room, a huge smile taking up most of his face, his arms outstretched. "Beej!" Hawkeye exclaimed as he strode to the man and pulled him into a bear hug. They just held onto each other for a while, neither really saying anything, both laughing, both enjoying the surprise.

Finally Hawkeye took a small step back and drank in the sight of his best friend. "What the hell? Why didn't you call to tell me you were coming?"

The smile on B.J.'s face dimmed just a notch. "Well that's the thing, Hawk. You've been kind of tough to get a hold of lately, haven't you?"

Hawkeye knew where this was going. He had been gradually becoming less communicative with his 4077th campmates over the last few months, and basically that meant with B.J., because none of the others tried to reach him very often.

B.J. continued, his voice gentle, "My last two letters went unanswered, and the last phone call—when was that, about three weeks ago? You rushed me off the phone after five minutes. We maybe spoke long enough to discuss the weather, and then poof. Suddenly you needed to go. What's goin' on, Hawk?" There was genuine concern on B.J.'s face, and Hawkeye took a long, lingering look, getting a bit lost in the boyish features, thinking… _Didn't expect to see him for years, if ever, and here he is, in my examining room, not even five months after the war ended. _

"You shaved off the moustache" was all he said. He wanted to reach out and touch B.J.'s face, to prove to himself that this was real, the man really was standing in front of him, but he managed to refrain.

B.J. must have felt the same need for physical contact, because he put a hand on Hawkeye's shoulder then. "Hawk? Answer my question. Why have you been avoiding me?"

Hawkeye first glanced away, then turned away, arranging his instruments on the tray, putting them into a neat row. "I haven't been avoiding you," he said, but it sounded like a lie even to his own ears. "I've been busy. And that night on the phone… my dad was waiting for me to pick him up, just like I told you." Lies, lies, all of it. He didn't think he sounded convincing at all.

"So you could have called me back. When it was more convenient for you. I'll tell ya, Hawk. I really feel like you're pushing me away, and I don't know why."

Hawkeye turned to look at him again, and this time his words were heartfelt and true. "I'm sorry, Beej. I honestly don't want you to feel that way."

B.J.'s mouth curved into a smile. "Good. I'm glad to hear that." He gestured around the examining room. "Nice practice, by the way. It's exactly what I expected a small-town doctor's office to look like. And in all seriousness?"

"Yeah?"

"I actually could use an exam, while I'm here." He sat on the table in front of them and began to unbutton his shirt. "Do you mind giving me the once-over?"

"Beej…"

"C'mon, Hawk. Just the usual poking and prodding, make sure the ticker's working, all that stuff. And while you're doing that, we can catch up."

Hawkeye couldn't figure out a way to say no without arousing B.J.'s suspicion, so he sighed and picked up his stethoscope. "Does this include turn your head and cough?" he asked with a grin.

The famous Hunnicutt laugh curled around Hawkeye's ribcage and squeezed just the tiniest bit. "We can skip that one."

By now B.J. was shirtless and Hawkeye thought it best to move behind him for the time being. He put the chestpiece of his stethoscope on B.J.'s back to listen to his lungs. "Take a deep breath," he instructed.

B.J. inhaled, exhaled, then said, "So everything's OK, then? With you, I mean. Did we establish that?"

"We did. Everything's fine. Practice is thriving, Dad's doing great, I'm doing great. Nothing for you to worry about." Was his nose getting longer? He needed to change the subject, and fast. "How about you? What brings you out East? I hope not just little ol' me." Hawkeye repositioned his stethoscope. "Another deep breath."

Inhale, exhale. "No, I was in New York City for a couple days. One of my cousins got married. Peg and Erin didn't make the trip—it was just me. It seemed silly to be so close to Maine and not come see you, and besides I was worried, like I said. So I decided to rent a car and drive on up here and surprise you. What a beautiful state this is, Hawk! You sure were right, all those times you waxed poetic about it." He laughed softly. "I got a map, found Crabapple Cove on it, and once I got into town, I just asked for directions to Dr. Pierce's office. Certainly not the kind of thing a person could do in San Francisco, let me tell ya."

"I'll bet," Hawkeye said. "Your lungs sound fine. Now let me listen to your heart." He moved around to stand at B.J.'s side, and his breath caught as he realized how close they were. How close, and how bare-chested B.J. was. He was aware that his hands were shaking ever-so-slightly as he placed the stethoscope on B.J.'s chest. Correction, on B.J.'s _hairy_ chest. _Always had a soft spot for this one's body, didn't ya, Pierce? Sneaking peeks in the shower. Practically unable to look away whenever he took his shirt off. He's built, that's for damn sure…_

Hawkeye shook his head and gave a listen to B.J.'s heart. Thump thump. Sounded just fine. Sounded like music. The beating of a heart… Hawkeye listened to the sound nearly every day. Thump thump. His own heartbeat had picked up in the last few minutes, to be sure, but B.J.'s sounded perfectly fine. Perfectly normal. _The heart of the man I—_

He had to shake his head again. "Ticker sounds just fine, Beej," he said, trying to hold his voice steady. He felt anything but steady. "And you look fantastic, as always." He picked up B.J.'s shirt and held it out to him.

B.J. looked puzzled. "Are you kidding me? That's all you're gonna do? Listen to my lungs and heart? That's not an exam!" He tossed the shirt aside and held his arms out to his sides. "Give me the full treatment, doc. Ears, eyes, throat, blood pressure." He paused, then added with a chuckle, "Just not turn your head and cough, that's all."

Giving in, Hawkeye picked up a tongue depressor and said, "OK, Beej. Say 'Charles's taste in music was ahhhh-ful.'"

That got a big laugh from B.J., and Hawkeye couldn't help it—he joined in. It felt good to be laughing with his best friend again. They understood each other, and that included their shared warped sense of humor. Whereas one of Hawkeye's jokes might fall flat with others, there was never that disconnect with B.J. They shared a brain.

After the laughter died down, B.J. opened his mouth and went "ahh," and Hawkeye leaned closer for a look, tongue depressor in hand. "Throat looks fine, Beej," he said softly, acutely aware that his face was inches from B.J.'s. Feeling his friend's breath. Feeling his _being_.

He abruptly stepped back, tossing the tongue depressor into the wastebasket. _Jesus, is it getting hot in here?_ He blew out a shaky breath and felt a tiny bead of sweat trickle down his side.

The lies he'd told just now… They were, of course, to disguise the _real_ reason why he'd stopped answering letters and talking on the phone. And that real reason was that he was desperate to get over B.J. Hunnicutt. There'd been an attraction, a longing, during the war, while they'd shared a home and their thoughts and nearly every waking moment of every day. The temptation was always strong, but Hawkeye kept his feelings to himself, never wanting to put B.J. in an awkward position, never quite brave enough to confess his secret. And what would have been the point, anyway? Had he ever met a more married man in his life? And that was the bottom line. The object of his affection was married, taken, spoken for… and probably wouldn't have been the least bit interested in a cynical, bedraggled, tired, graying doctor even if he'd been single. And, oh yeah, a _male_ doctor to boot.

In retrospect, Hawkeye was surprised he hadn't become even more unhinged in Korea. Yearning for his best friend, who lived three feet away in the same tent, who was always by his side… he couldn't believe he'd endured such intense desire, such _torture_, every day. He remembered saying goodbye to B.J. as his chopper waited to take him away from camp, he remembered thinking:_ tell him now, why the hell not? Tell him and see what the reaction is._ But he couldn't bring himself to do it, and instead they had parted as they had lived for two years: as best friends.

But even after Hawkeye got home, he realized it was not going to be easy to get over B.J. Even though they weren't living together anymore, even though they wouldn't be seeing each other, that didn't stop the longing. It didn't stop the heartache.

And so he'd decided the best course of action was to break the connection. Or try to, without hurting B.J. He'd answered a couple of B.J.'s letters at first, but then he'd stopped. It was too painful. It was impossible to sound cheerful when what he really wanted to write was, _Do you know how much I miss you? Do you have any idea how much I want you? _

Then he started to cut the phone calls short, "gotta run, Beej, sorry." He just didn't know how else to go about forgetting this guy. But he needed to do it, for his well-being, for his sanity.

"Hawk?" B.J.'s soft voice broke into his thoughts. "Everything all right?"

"Yeah. You bet. Let me just take a look at your ears now…" He reached over and picked up his otoscope and moved even closer to B.J., right up against him, to peer into his ear. Black-gray hair touched and mingled with dirty blond hair, and Hawkeye's breathing turned shallow. "Right ear's fine, let me check the left." He stepped around to the other ear, willing himself to get through the rest of this exam, just keep it professional and wrap it up fast. "Left ear's good, too. Honestly, Beej, I'm sure this exam isn't necessary—"

"Humor me," B.J. said.

"You're fit as a fiddle, whatever the hell that means."

"A thorough checkup never hurt anyone. And frankly? I haven't had one since the last time you examined me back in Korea."

Oh, and didn't Hawkeye remember _those_ little slices of heaven? _Colonel Potter says we're due for our checkups, Beej. Strip! _

He nearly laughed at the memory.

"OK, OK, on to the eyes, then," he said now, turning to his instrument tray and exchanging his otoscope for an ophthalmoscope. "Look straight ahead."

Had he ever realized before just how damn close you need to be to the patient to examine him properly? His face was a mere inch from B.J.'s as he looked into his eyes with the ophthalmoscope, and he thought for sure he was going to hyperventilate. Or kiss the man, whichever reaction came first.

"Blink," he whispered, and B.J. did. Hawkeye studied eyes he had stared at many, many times before. "And blink again." First the right (gorgeous blue eye), then the left (gorgeous blue eye), and everything looked fine, just as he knew it would.

With a mixture of relief and disappointment, Hawkeye stepped backward, finally putting distance between them. B.J. was still shirtless, sitting there on his table, a patient and a best friend wanting only a checkup and a chat. Hawkeye knew it was wrong, knew it was insane, but he didn't see a patient _or_ a best friend. He only saw the man he loved.

The man he wanted more than anything else in the world.

For a moment, he couldn't speak. The weight of the situation overtook him, and he was rendered motionless and mute. He gazed at B.J. with a stare that could melt steel.

"Hawk?" B.J. was watching him closely. "There's definitely something wrong, don't tell me there isn't."

Hawkeye blinked and swallowed, pulling himself out of his daze. "I think I'm just really tired—"

"Bullshit," B.J. cut him off angrily. "You're acting very strange. I know there's something you're not telling me. Something's got you mad or upset and I want to know what it is. This is _me_ you're talking to."

Hawkeye smiled weakly. "Better check your blood pressure before you shoot it through the roof." He grabbed his sphygmomanometer and fastened the cuff around B.J.'s arm as he said, "I'm sorry, Beej. You're right, I'm not quite myself, but you don't need to worry. It's nothing that you can… do anything about."

"Try me?"

Hawkeye held up a finger to signal "just a second." He inflated the blood-pressure cuff and listened with his stethoscope. Letting the pressure out of the cuff, he said, "BP's perfect, Beej. You pass your exam with flying colors."

"Thanks, doc." B.J. reached for his shirt and slid it on, and Hawkeye thought: _finally!_, immediately followed by: _damn. _"Now how about telling me what's on your mind? Even if it _is_ something that I can't do anything about."

Hawkeye took a seat next to B.J. on the table but couldn't look at him. Instead, he stared across the room at nothing in particular. "I think I need some time to myself. We should stop getting in touch with each other, just for a little while. Not forever."

"What?" There was bewilderment in B.J.'s voice, and Hawkeye felt his heart clench at the thought that B.J.'s next reaction was going to be hurt. "Why?"

He finally turned his eyes back to B.J.'s face… B.J.'s sweet, wholesome, beautiful face… and he spoke deliberately and softly. "It takes a long time to get over somebody." He thought about adding to that, but he couldn't come up with anything more to say.

The room seemed to get suddenly smaller and warmer, and Hawkeye had to fight off a feeling of panic. He watched B.J.'s expression gradually shift from confusion to comprehension, and he was grateful that he wouldn't have to elaborate. After a long moment, B.J. nodded and said, "Yeah. It does."

Relieved, Hawkeye put a hand on B.J.'s shoulder and then stood up. "I'm glad you came to see me, Beej. Really."

B.J. finished buttoning his shirt and also stood. "I'm glad I got to see Crabapple Cove, famous in story and song. It meant a lot to me, to finally see the place." He touched Hawkeye's elbow as he added, "But now I need to shove off, get back home, back to the hospital and—" He stopped abruptly, but Hawkeye knew he'd been about to say "my family."

"Absolutely, Beej. It was great to see you." He watched as B.J. walked to the door, and he thought his knees might buckle with the intense emotion that was wracking his body. Sorrow, regret, pain… all of that and more. Letting this man walk out of his life again, not even five months after the first time. Losing the love of his life, because that's what it came down to, that's the secret he'd been harboring for years: B.J. wasn't just another pretty face, not just another object of desire. B.J. was the one person he believed was truly meant for him… his soul mate… his other half.

_Except my life doesn't work that way. I don't get the happy ending. I don't get the prince._

B.J. was standing at the door, his hand on the knob, about to leave but for some reason hesitating. He just looked at Hawkeye for a few seconds, then he smiled and said, "Thanks for the exam, Hawk. I'll be in touch, but not—" Some unidentifiable emotion crossed B.J.'s face as he paused. "Well, not for a while." He nodded, and Hawkeye nodded back.

The door opened and B.J. disappeared through it, closing it after him. Hawkeye could feel himself trembling, could feel his heart racing. He stood there staring at the closed door, unable to think anything more coherent than _shit, shit, shit._

After a minute, he drew in a deep breath and let it out. Then he turned and began to gather up his things to leave for the day.


End file.
